Sorrowing
by avtorSola
Summary: It was all her fault, but she and Matsumoto would make sure that Aizen bled for what he'd done to her little brother. And he was suffering, his will twisted and stolen from him, his soul torn cruelly in two, but nothing would stop him from protecting his sister. Two-shot. Hinamori/Hitsugaya POV
1. Chapter 1 - Hinamori

**A/N:** I know I'm supposed to be working on _Crash-landed_. But inspiration struck me so...

* * *

The room was white and clean, the sky unusually clear for such a pale day. She stood still, staring in disbelief at the cold corpse lying before her, her heart in her mouth, her guilt gnawing at her insides. It wasn't possible. It wasn't. This couldn't be real – she couldn't have lost two of her closest confidants in the space of an hour.

He wasn't…

"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant, but he's gone. He died on the operating table less than an hour ago." Unohana said quietly, the blood on her gloves drying slowly, painfully slowly.

"No! No, you don't understand, he _can't_ be dead! He _can't!"_

"Lieutenant, please! Calm yourself!" Someone shouted, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her physically away. She was still too weak to resist, still too frail to fight, but she did anyway, clawing at the doctors pulling her away. But she screamed for him, over and over and over, crying for him to wake up, to _answer_. He didn't respond, the ever-frozen frost that clung to his pale white cheeks accentuating the hollowness of his thin body, the way that his haori no longer curved close about the power of his icy frame.

She broke down, sobbing. It was her fault. She hadn't trusted him – the boy she'd known since she was a little girl. She'd chosen her captain.

And now he was dead.

"Toushiro-kun! Shiro-chan! _Shiro-chan!_ "

* * *

The Tenth Division held his funeral the next day, lowering their captain's petite corpse into a coffin and sealing the lid with hard iron nails. His Hyourinmaru lay unsheathed in his hands, which were clasped peacefully over the slashed breast beneath, and he wore his haori even into the grave.

The sweet, cloying scent of funeral flowers – _it smelled like plum blossoms_ – was thick in the air, the unbroken silence deafening. She was still in shock, she knew, and the pitying whispers that followed her were numerous.

Momo had never felt so lost in her entire life.

Her captain had betrayed her.

Toushiro had been slain protecting her.

And she'd pointed her blade at the very boy who had given his life to save hers.

After he was buried, she stayed by his headstone for a long time, reading and re-reading the careful, elegant characters on the grey tombstone. With trembling fingers, she reached out, traced the familiar, strong marks of her little brother's name. It was dark by the time she stood up, the moon gleaming brightly off the tears on her face, and she pressed a watery kiss to the top of the grave marker, her grief burning holes in her heart.

"Goodbye, Shiro-chan." She whispered. "I loved you. And I will avenge you."

Hiding in the shadows at the edge of the graveyard, nails dug into calloused palms, and for a moment the shadow felt regret overwhelm the triumph beneath the bone mask.

Then both the shadow and the girl turned and went their separate ways.

* * *

She grew strong.

It was a gradual change, but slowly she managed to build herself up, the flames of her soul burning bright and angry. When she achieved her Bankai, the Fifth Division erupted in cheers. But she stayed grim and silent, her anger and hatred boiling over the sweet kindness she had once exuded so effortlessly. She was appointed Captain not two months later, and she accepted stiffly, wearing her brother's old mask of harsh stoicism.

Toushiro's division remained in mourning, and no successor rose to fill the empty void which the child captain had left in their hearts. Matsumoto didn't drink anymore, only sat blankly at her desk, methodically doing her captain's paperwork.

No one dared to mention the young man's name anywhere within their earshot. Momo only became angry, and Matsumoto sank into tears. And should Matsumoto not manage to drown the unlucky speaker, then Hinamori was well prepared to mutter Aizen's name with murderous intent in her chocolate eyes, hand on the hilt of her explosive Zanpakuto, and flare her reiatsu so powerfully that even the Head-Captain was surprised by her vehemence.

They trained incessantly – Momo with her fire and rage, Matsumoto with the grey, grieving ash of her sorrowing blade, and the training grounds would smoke once they finished, the dust of Kido floating in the air like the halos of fallen angels. But both had vowed to destroy the traitor, and so nothing was done to prevent them from breaking themselves.

And slowly, the weeks drew out into months. Aizen's Arrancar invaded Seireitei with surprising frequency, each one wide-eyed and scared. The clawed marks of a vicious beast were scored into their Hierro, and some even bore these deep wounds on the sides of their faces. When questioned about the gashes, each would tremble and mutter something fervently under their breaths before responding quietly.

"Imperfection is not tolerated by Aizen-sama." They would say quietly. "So HE is allowed to toy with those who displease Aizen-sama at his leisure."

Nothing else would be said about the matter, but each time Hinamori wiped the Arrancar blood from her burning blade she would feel the kiss of snow on the back of her neck, the sweetness of watermelon tingeing the air and she would suspect. And the shadow in the distance would vanish, the bone mask on his face separating them.

* * *

The sun is harsh and bright, the wintry air chilling her blood, but she hold her ground with an iron glare and a blazing scowl, one of the many traits she'd adopted from her late brother. Aizen stands before her, faintly startled by the white haori hanging gracefully from her capable shoulders. The might of the Gotei Thirteen is behind her, their anger and hatred giving might to the wrath burning away at her scarlet soul.

The clash of her blade against the Tercera Espada's must have been fate – fire versus water – and briefly her thoughts drift to how well-suited Toushiro would have been to such a battle. Harribel sees the look in her eyes and stops briefly, the bloodshed between them quelled with the Arrancar's quiet curiosity.

"You have felt the pain of sacrifice, have you not?" Harribel asks quietly. And Momo smiles with mirth, the tips of her haori charred by her smoking power.

"My younger brother sacrificed himself to protect me from Aizen's blade." She says sharply, her tone serrated. "We buried him six months ago, and more's the pity for it. His power was far greater than mine ever could be."

Harribel cocks her head to the side, puzzled.

"Then how can you fight so fiercely?" she asks calmly. "You are as vicious as a Hollow."

Momo laughs, a hateful, mirthless sound.

"My heart was torn from my chest with Aizen's betrayal and my brother's death." She replies coldly. "And thus I swore myself to vengeance. I may as well be a Hollow."

Harribel says nothing, but when she falls to the burn of Hinamori's fire, the new captain cannot help but wonder if there is not the slightest glimmer of respect in the other's eyes. Yet the thought is quickly quashed, stifled by the rising heat of her hatred. She will avenge her brother or die trying and it is with this thought in mind that she attacks her former captain, brown eyes smoldering black coals in the stark whiteness of her face. Their blades meet in a flash of sparks, her voice roars a command to Tobiume, and the explosion is born purely of the simmering power of her wrath.

If Aizen is taken aback by the full force of her rage, he hides it well, parrying her blade easily. They exchange vicious blows for several more minutes, and soon the other captains and Kurosaki Ichigo join her, swords and Kido and flame flashing like fireworks in the pale sky. Finally, however, her traitorous former captain drops back a pace with that infuriating smirk of his on his oily face.

"So violent, Hinamori-kun." He says, and his voice's soothing quality only enrages her further. "Why so vehement?"

Matsumoto is at her side instantly, the ash and fire whirling round them like the tumultuous windstorm of their anger, and Momo snarls.

"I want your blood." She hisses, fury like lava in her veins. "I want your head in exchange for what you did to Hitsugaya-kun."

Aizen laughs cruelly, and the cool breeze that follows is laced with snow and ice, a familiar snap of winter. Hinamori's eyes widen, and her former captain motions to the empty air with a gentle, coaxing motion.

And the shadow steps out from a Garganta.

The bone headpiece is more of a crown than anything else, but two long, bone fangs curl down his cheeks and the hole through his chest is painfully visible. He still wears white, but he's traded the shihakusho for a pair of white slacks, a crisp white jacket which he wears open, and an odd black choker. Hyourinmaru's crest has been tattooed in icy blue on one high cheekbone, the pale white of his skin deathly cold, and he still wears his Zanpakutou across his back. But the mesmerizing jade of his eyes is dead, a dull flat green that neither sparkles nor shimmers with any of the intelligence he once had.

On the side of his neck, Momo sees a Zero inked in black.

"Oh Hinamori-kun." Aizen simpers quietly. "Do you truly believe that I'd kill someone with so much _potential_?"

The captains stare in open-mouthed astonishment and horror, and slowly Aizen speaks, his lips curved in a smile.

"Hitsugaya-kun."

The young Arrancar-Shinigami turns jerkily to him, a flare of hatred quickening the green of his eyes back into jade for the briefest of seconds, and then Hinamori knows she has a chance to save him. As he'd saved her.

"Kill."

The command Aizen gives is brief, and for a split second Hitsugaya fights for control. But then he snarls, the sword shearing effortlessly through the ice on his back, and leaps forward, attacking with a mindless sense of drive and desperation. And in his despair he lunges for Momo. Their Zanpakutou meet, each crying out in agony, and the world goes white.

* * *

 _"_ _H-Hinamori…"_

 _Momo opens her eyes. Standing in front of her is Toushiro, his Hollowified appearance still cloaking him even in this white place. However, he's trembling and frightened, a quivering mess. He's Shiro-chan again, and she knows that this is the real him, not the monster that Aizen has conjured up._

 _"_ _Momo…oh god, help me…" he murmurs, clutching at his hollow chest._

 _She nods, unused to being the one providing support, and kneels by him, her face full of wild joy. She has a chance._

 _"_ _Just tell me how." She says, and it is her determination that finally makes him believe again. "I spent six months training because I promised to avenge you. Now let me use that training to save you."_

 _Hitsugaya smiles at her then, a sad smile, and whispers in her ear. Her eyes widen, and she screams in denial. But then the white is fading, and she knows it is her only choice._

* * *

As he'd warned her, he cannot stop fighting, but his swings are slower, messier, and as the others turn to watch she starts to overpower the young Espada. In a panic, Aizen yells at the white-haired boy, ordering him to stop holding back, and as he does so Kurosaki's blade stabs him from behind, and Matsumoto removes the traitor's head.

So it is just as Hitsugaya releases his Resurrecion that Hinamori's flaming blade pierces his chest. The great wings and bestial claws of bone, webbed with ice, crack in midair behind him, and he sighs in relief, his chest expanding around Tobiume's blade, buried in him to the hilt. Ever so gently, still smiling in thanks, he takes Hinamori's hands in his and twists the blade.

Momo chokes when he shudders, a wide-eyed gasp of pain escaping him, and she holds him close as he slips off her blade, the Hollow hole in the center of his chest closing slowly, softly, the shards of bone on his forehead breaking, his tattoos disappearing.

"I'm sorry." She whispers to him. "I'm sorry for not trusting you, Shiro-chan."

Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth and down his chin.

"Stupid…Bed-wetter…Mo…mo." He whispers back. Then he smiles, tips his face to the sky and chuckles weakly, faintly.

"Thank you…" he mumbles with bloody lips, and stills in her arms.

Momo screams.

Unohana carries the light little body away, and Matsumoto picks up Hinamori like a child, cradling her gently, tears running down both their faces. And the shinigami pick themselves up and trail back into Soul Society, nursing broken hearts and broken minds.

* * *

Two months later, Hinamori receives a summons from Unohana, and so she trudges to the Fourth Division, her gaze haunted with visions of snow and ice. The healing captain watches her for a while as she slouches up to the gates, her mouth quirked in understanding, but finally she motions for the young captain to follow her.

Unohana leads Momo to a secluded corner of the large hospital in which all Seireitei's patients rest and stops before a locked door, keying in a complex passcode. The door pops open, swinging outwards, and Hinamori starts as the frost rushes over her white tabi socks. A quiet chuckle sounds from within the room, and then Hitsugaya Toushiro steps out, clad in his shihakusho and haori, Hyourinmaru strapped proudly to his back. The collar about his throat is gone, and only the hints of glinting white bandages poke out from under his shirt collar.

He rolls his eyes.

"Bedwetter Momo." He snaps, smirking, and Momo bursts into both laughter and tears, flinging her arms around her brother and wrapping him tightly in her embrace, determined to never let go.

"Shiro-chan!"

And for once, he doesn't correct her.

 _~Owari~_

* * *

Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2 - Hitsugaya

**A/N:** Because Flowering Lotus asked.

* * *

He falls in a haze of red and white, the cold breaths of Hyourinmaru's roaring anger soaring through his head and heart as he plunges to the earth, slick with ice and the blood pouring from his chest. His vision blurs, but he thinks rather than feels that consciousness still clings to him, and his ice creeps uncontrollably up his neck and onto his cheeks, freezing over the glossy green marbles of his eyes and enhancing the sightless stare of his face. Too late he realizes he's deeply unconscious and floating in an unrealistic dream state, the sensations of freezing ice only present in the confines of his own nightmares.

He's dreaming for so long...

When he wakes up again, it's to the sound of rapidly beeping monitors and the agonizing pain of a scalpel being dragged through his wounds, and he shakes violently, in such pain that he knows he'd die if he had the choice. Something sharp is pressed into the side of his neck, however, and after the pinch sears his throat with burning fire, he feels numb and lethargic, oddly weightless and painless. The seconds drag into endless years, forever lost in the dark wastes of time...

His surgery is done by the time he's coming down from the cloud-headed high, and though his eyes won't open he's acutely aware of the warm hand supporting his chin and forcing his mouth open. Something tacky and disgusting slides down his throat, and he gags, but then a pulse of reiatsu smashes him further into his own mind and suddenly he's acutely aware of the hand over his heart, the whispered words and spells taking something irreplaceable from him. Deep inside him, the tacky liquid bubbles and froths, churning the whirlwind blizzard of his power into something dark and vicious, and Hyourinmaru's voice goes suddenly, terribly silent.

The hand leaves his chest with a sharp snap, and without warning he finds that Hyourinmaru's absence doesn't bother him. He doesn't _care_ , no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much he knows that he should, and a savage, pounding ache echoes through his lean body.

Hunger rips through him, and he opens his eyes.

Aizen is standing over him, a strange expression on his face, and the disgusting slime unexpectedly boils back up his throat and leaks from his mouth and eyes, flowing against gravity, up his face. It hardens there, cleaving to his skin with unnatural, molded-glue tension. His left cheekbone itches, and as the vile liquid hardens to sharp spires on either side of his face, he can feel his skin there shimmer and turn - though turn to what, he doesn't know.

He coughs briefly, glancing at his bare shoulder to find that the deep wound Aizen had dealt him was scarred over, closed with a finality that triggered some instinctual feral reaction, and he snarled up at the man, struggling against the black bonds about his wrists with no little strength.

Aizen laughs at his resistance, then kneels down and slips a black collar about the young man's pale neck. Almost immediately Hitsugaya can feel the sharp suppression of his will, his fight sliding away. His mind grows numb.

 _Aizen-sama..._

"Three rules, Hitsugaya-kun." Aizen says, his tone the oily kindness of someone holding and abusing absolute power. "Number one. You are not allowed to touch your collar with anything except your neck, and you are not allowed to let anyone else except me, Gin, or Kaname touch that collar."

He jerks, a spasm of hot anger scraping at his insides, but he collar's power drips black sedative onto his soul and he quiets.

 _Listen to Aizen-sama._

"Number two. You are not allowed to attack me, Gin, or Kaname under any circumstances unless we give permission for training purposes." Aizen continues, the smug smile of his infuriatingly - _imperial. He is your master. Obey Aizen-sama._

"And number three." Aizen finishes with a smile. "Unless I give you an order to the contrary...you are not permitted to reveal your existence to anyone in the Gotei 13. Am I understood?"

His mouth moves without his permission, the words escaping him in a monotone, but he can't bring himself to care. He drops his gaze, a dull confusion at his apathy tapping lightly at the inside of his head, but when he looks down along the lean lines of his own body, he understands.

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

And the hole through his chest gapes even wider.

* * *

After the Fourth Espada, Ulqiuorra Cifer, gifts him with a set of white clothes, he is allowed to dress himself. He can feel the other's eyes on his pale body, but the fiery embarrassment that would usually engulf him is no more than a brief flicker of discomfort. Aizen's stare, however, is a piercing reminder of the dominion the former captain now has over his soul. For a moment the icy passion that forms his entire being blazes white, the impression of pale wings unfolding from his back, but then his will is quenched and when fully clothed he goes to stand before Aizen, his empty eyes lowered submissively.

Aizen reaches out and fingers his cheek, but the usual disgust is missing. He can't respond, and it seems the others know this, for they say nothing despite the mocking grins on their faces. Finally, Aizen speaks again.

"You're my masterpiece, Hitsugaya-kun." he murmurs gently, something deranged - _something omniscient, you fool, he owns your soul -_ glinting in the corners of the murky hazel stare. "The perfect fusion of Shinigami and Arrancar...the pinnacle of all my scientific work. How does that feel, to be the perfect experiment? Go on, speak your mind."

The iron clamp on his anger and hatred released for his vocal chords, Hitsugaya growls, his voice feral.

"Go to hell, bastard." he spits, eliciting a round of laughter from the other Arrancar, but Aizen just smiles that sickly-kind smile of his and motions for Gin to step out of the shadows.

"Gin, do you have the boy's Zanpakutou?" he asks calmly. Ichimaru's customary grin widens, and without a word he removes the long blade from his back and throws it casually at its owner. Hitsugaya stumbles in surprise but catches the blade with stubbing fingers, blinking in muted horror when Hyourinmaru's icy spirit doesn't swell through him. But slowly, he feels the rushing tide of ice pulse through his body, a glacier's slow immutability accompanying the rushing surge of power. And Hyourinmaru's voice which had been so quiet for so long thunders inside his empty, heartless chest. He's filled to bursting with power, with reiryoku untold, and the hunger gnawing at his inside tears loose.

Aizen smiles at the bestial bloodthirst struggling on his unwilling face, and with a wave of his hand Gin slices a nearby rope, sending a large door in the far wall racing up towards the ceiling. Three Arrancar with scared expressions and drawn Zanpakutou in their hands are revealed by this, one with a Five tattooed on his face, the other two each sporting one half of a Two on their shoulders. Aizen gestures to them.

"These three have displeased me." he explains, his tone completely calm. "All three are high-ranking Espada level - but that's no matter, I can just make more. I want you...to dispose of them, Hitsugaya-kun."

Toushiro's body shakes, but he masters himself before the command can take effect, and since the statement was phrased as a wish, he drags his will back to the forefront of his mind and holds it there. Hyourinmaru's Hollow voice rings soundlessly in his ears, also trying to beat back the black stain. Aizen frowns a bit, but in the background Hitsugaya can see the dawning respect in the other Arrancars' myriad eyes. Aizen, however, misses this completely

"I see." he says, contemplatively. "I underestimated the strength of your willpower. I'll have to learn to control you as well, I suppose."

Hitsugaya would slice the evil man in half, but Aizen merely points at the three trembling Espada and sighs.

"Hitsugaya-kun, I know you must be hungry." he says silkily. "So I don't care if you end up eating them. But I do have one order for you."

Sweat droplets form on the young Arrancar-Shinigami's forehead, but he can't resist the sway of direct orders, and Aizen knows this, so he smirks.

"Kill them, Hitsugaya-kun."

An unearthly howl rips from Toushiro's lips as his will bends, a feral, predatory glint rising through the presence of his moral mind to cover his consciousness in a Hollow's ravenous darkness. And then he leaps, the mixture of Sonido and Shunpo, taking him forward faster than even the Flash Goddess, and his blade bites deep into one of the Two's throats, spurting blood all over his face and hands.

He tastes the blood, and the world dissolves into a screeching storm of death and ice.

His mind clears in what seems like seconds, but there's blood in his hair and on his teeth by the time he's done, and he can feel the sated purr rumbling deep in the depths of where heart should be, the bony wings webbed with deathly white ice and bestial claws dripping with red. Aizen is clapping slowly, and the other Espada are staring in shock. Even Gin's eyes are open, a hint of fear on his serpentine face. He knows then what he's done, and he can't help feeling sick at the thought of Hollow flesh filling his belly, yet the effect seems to give him a phantom heart for a moment, and he's proud of his current self-loathing, because it provides him - if only for a mere second - with a semblance of humanity. But at the same time, triumph hums in his blood, the easy adrenaline of hunting sending a thrill through him, and he can't fight the low, rumbling purr of sick pleasure that drifts from his lips.

Slowly, Hitsugaya seals his Resurrecion and slides the blade back into its sheath. And Aizen comes up to him with glee in those hazel eyes of his.

"My dear Arrancar, I would like to introduce you to your newest brother." he announces. "This Hitsugaya Toushiro, former Captain of the Tenth Division of Soul Society..."

He looks down at his white-haired weapon and the world goes white. Toushiro falls to his knees, Aizen's hand tangled in his bloody hair, his resistance futile. He's Aizen's pet now, and he knows he'd helpless to the evil man's every whim. So he stares forward, jade eyes dead, and says nothing at all.

"...And the new Espada Cero."

* * *

The tattoo on the side of his neck is as cold as his nonexistent heart, he thinks irritably, watching from afar as Hinamori stands in solemn, disbelieving attendance at what everyone believes is his funeral. He aches to go to her, to return to Soul Society and bring to light the truth of what Aizen has done to him, but the collar bobbing about his Adam's apple prevents him from acting on those thoughts. So he watches, the contented fullness of his stomach and pride from his first prey somewhat effervescent in the stillness of the air.

Momo stays for a long time after his funeral is over, and as he feels a tear slide down his face despite the emptiness of his chest, he realizes with some relief that he can _feel_ when he sees Momo.

Never has he been so glad, so terribly happy, to cry. And cry he does, frozen tears dripping down his face, as he looks upon one of the pieces of his missing heart holding vigil over a false gravestone. He regrets. He regrets his silence so much, because he's loved his sister for so long and never told her that. And now her sweet Shiro-chan is dead, replaced by a Hollow puppet dancing helplessly on Aizen's long, pale strings.

He will be forced to fight his friends, and it's almost the death of him right there.

But then Momo stands up, and her voice drifts across the field. Hyourinmaru's gleaming shaft freezes in his hands, and he finds that he is unable to pierce himself with his own blade - tragic, really, that it should come to this. Yet Momo's words give him hope, because when she's angry, only Kurosaki can match her potential.

"Goodbye, Shiro-chan." Momo whispers softly, her voice growing harsh. "I loved you. And I will avenge you."

Toushiro sheathes his blade and watches her leave, his nails curling into his palms, a mere ghostly shape in the shadows. Then he calls a Garganta. Momo will be stronger, he understands instinctively, if he stays dead to her. So the plan forms in his mind, and he smirks, the expression wild. The fragment of his icy heart - Hinamori Momo - has already gone, taking his remorse and anger and grief with her, and so he feels nothing when he considers that other lives will be lost if he follows through with his plan.

What matters now is that Hinamori is strong enough to end him.

He walks willingly back into the dark.

* * *

Months pass slowly, but his power skyrockets without warning, crushing the weaker Arrancar to their knees and even pressuring the other Espada at times. He is given a wide berth by many of the inhabitants of Hueco Mundo, and even bequeathed a nickname by the players on Aizen's chessboard.

The White Death, they call him, trembling when he passes, and if he wants to, he lashes out. Nobody will miss a few quivering Hollows, and Aizen seems to rather enjoy his bloodthirsty temperament. But the fear on the others' faces is worth the effort. He needs to keep his fearsome reputation up even among the Hollows, because if he even once allows his wholesome side to show through he won't be able to help the Gotei 13 when the time comes for the war to begin.

And his plan, miraculously, works.

Aizen makes a great many Arrancar, but a great majority of these beasts are weak; imperfect representations of the evil man, and when Hitsugaya eyes them with a sadistic sparkle in the deadened, greenjade stare, Aizen is all too happy to indulge the wicked cruelty that his perfect creation seems to delight in. They are gifted by the dozens to the Arrancar-Shinigami's entertainment, and when one disappears with a scream and a spray of blood leaks from under Hitsugaya's door, everyone in Hueco Mundo relaxes. The monster has been appeased for now, they think, and in some manner, they are right.

To keep up appearances, Toushiro does allow the Hollow instincts to rule him when he deals with the weaker of the imperfect Arrancar, and he always makes sure to paste an insane smirk on his face whenever he does this. Several times he's had Aizen walk in on him when he kills, and the sight of the shattered intelligence before him always seems to sate the man somehow.

But the stronger ones he merely terrifies, tortures for a bit so that all of his unwanted colleagues can hear their screams, and then disappears with them in a whirlwind, transporting them effortlessly to Soul Society and setting them loose in the Rukongai. They're trembling the whole time, and he watches for Aizen's sake. After all, if the man sends someone to check on him, he wants to be at least appearing like he's enjoying watching the carnage.

He's not really. He told Aizen that the cause of death which best fit him was Wrath, but it wasn't really. Yammy emulates Wrath. But him? He's the most powerful of all.

Emotion.

And this death-knell cause gives him the strength to, if briefly, regain his heart. He'd figured it out slowly. But he'd done it.

So he watches, pretending, and observes Hinamori when she fights the Arrancar he sends to their deaths, charting her growth with something that could be called tenderness if he had a heart. It hurts him to see her so stone-faced, but if it kept her alive...

Each time she finished her enemy, she would look up, her brown eyes wandering unnervingly close to his hiding spots, and he'd hope that she'd found him. But then the collar would warp his will and he'd flee, leaving nothing but the cold kiss of his presence lingering around the area.

* * *

The tug on his reiatsu is commanding, and he glances around one last time at the breaking ruins of Hueco Mundo. He'd hidden during Ulquiorra's battle with Kurosaki, point-blank refusing to help any of the other Espada, and though they stare, they know the thoughts running through his mind. Grimmjow even wishes him a grudging "kick ass or kick the bucket, White Death."

He's almost touched.

But the pull is immovable, and he must obey.

The Garganta opens. He steps in, speeds through in a flash of white, and comes out the other side utterly unruffled. It's the moment of truth - can he refuse the collar's power enough for the Gotei 13 to win?

"Oh Hinamori-kun." He hears Aizen simper. "Do you truly believe that I'd kill someone with so much _potential_?"

He can't move without permission anymore, so he doesn't, only stares straight ahead, knowing that the captains are staring in open-mouthed astonishment and horror, and slowly Aizen speaks again, his lips curved in a smile.

"Hitsugaya-kun."

It's jerky, but the collar bleeds decay onto his willpower and he turns to face the man who owns his very soul. Hatred flares in the depths of his jade eyes, and he prepares himself to struggle against his own will. Aizen smirks mockingly and speaks.

"Kill."

The command Aizen gives is brief, and for a split second he fights for control, flailing against the suffocating spiritual bonds even as his body starts to move. But then his will snaps and he snarls like the beast he let himself become, the sword shearing effortlessly through the ice on his back. He lunges forward, attacking with a mindless sense of drive and desperation. And in his despair he goes for Momo, the one person who might be able to save his fallen soul. She gapes at him, the haori on her shoulders swirling, and he wants to cry with pride and sorrow but he can't, so he just fights. And their Zanpakutou meet with a resounding clash, each blade crying out in agony, and the world goes white.

* * *

 _The world is white, and time stands still for a brief moment while his heart floods back into him, filling him with emotional strength and weakness alike, and he clutches at his chest, staring widely at Hinamori as she opens her eyes to look at him._

" _H-Hinamori…"_ _he whispers, trembling and scared. He_ ' _s death personified now, a huge, unstable ball of emotion and pain and suffering, and he_ needs _her to be there for him, now more than ever. He's dying, he knows, and he wants to stop, to defy the bastard but he can't and it's killing him, so he sinks to his knees and pleads._

" _Momo…oh god, help me…" he murmurs_ _with wide, horror-stricken eyes, and Momo kneels down next to him. She_ ' _s smiling through the tears of joy on her face, and suddenly he feels miserable because he's going to break her heart again, but there's no other choice._

 _He needs her to kill him._

" _Just tell me how." She says, and it is her determination that finally makes him_ _feel strong again, the terrified tears on his face drying. "I spent six months training because I promised to avenge you. Now let me use that training to save you."_

 _Hitsugaya smiles at her then, a sad smile, and leans forward, his bone headpiece cold even to his touch._

" _Momo..." he swallows hard, his green eyes fixed on her shoulder. "I'm not salvageable so...please..._ _please_ _kill me, Momo. I'll hold back so you can but_ _please_ _...take my life._ "

 _She screams in denial, and he cries to feel his heart start slipping away. But then the white is fading, and since he knows it_ ' _s his last chance, he cries out._

" _...I love you, Momo!"_

 _He doesn't know if she hears him._

* * *

He cannot stop fighting, but his swings are slower, messier, and as the other turn to watch them battle, he feels himself being overpowered. His phantom heart blossoms with warmth, and suddenly he feels calm under Momo's incessant pressure. Realizing perhaps too late what his pet is doing, Aizen yells at the white-haired boy, ordering him to stop holding back. But as the command takes hold on the collar about his willpower, Kurosaki's blade stabs Aizen from behind, and Matsumoto removes the traitor's head. He smiles at them, relieved, but he can feel his reiatsu building, his Resurrecion forming, and he turns, gazing at Momo with pleading eyes.

She takes the hint with a sob of grief.

His Resurrecion explodes from his body, but a sudden, sharp agony slides metal through his lungs and spine, and he gasps. Hinamori's flaming blade breaks from the skin of his back, covered in his own red sizzling blood, and as the great wings and bestial claws of bone crack in midair behind him he lets out a sigh of relief. Tobiume is buried in him to the hilt, a fatal blow, and he can feel darkness, peaceful and soothing, rise up to sweep over him. He smiles gratefully, glad for the release, and takes Hinamori's hands in his pale fingers.

He helps her twists the blade.

His insides tear irreparably and a high-pitched groan of pain whistles through his lips, his entire body convulsing with shearing pain. Momo chokes, and as he goes limp and slides painfully from her sword, she reaches out and catches him gently. A blissful warmth creeps over him, darkness blotching over parts of his vision, and he realizes sleepily that the Hollow hole in the center of his chest is closing slowly, softly, the shards of bone on his forehead breaking, his tattoos disappearing. He's been purified, he understands, and he leans against the curve of Hinamori's small chest as she cradles him while he dies.

"I'm sorry." She whispers to him, and he knows she's thinking of Aizen's letter. "I'm sorry for not trusting you, Shiro-chan."

Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, sticky and warm. He coughs, and tries to look at her, but the world is dark now and a pinprick of light is falling down from the inky black sky towards him. The pain is fading; a deep, soothing warmth curling close about his thin frame and tugging him away, lifting him gently into the comfort and healing of the world beyond.

"Stupid…Bed-wetter…Mo…mo." He whispers, hoping she can hear him still. Then he smiles, tips his face to that growing, spreading light and chuckles weakly. He's content, he thinks peacefully, dying like this, but he wants to say one last thing.

"Thank you…" he mumbles, barely able to move his lips, and then he's flying, flying so free in that warm, beautiful sky...

* * *

He wakes in a comfortable bed, wrapped gently in warm, soft blankets, the sun shining on his feet and warming them. He's tired and sleepy, and he blinks blearily at the all-white room in which he has been sleeping. There are no signs of danger or distress anywhere, only a pleasant, buzzing silence, and he sighs quietly. Is this what happens after one dies a second time? he wonders fuzzily, starting to drift off again. But then the door slides open and Unohana steps through, carrying a bundle of clothes and his long, keen-bladed Zanpakutou.

She smiles kindly at him, reaching out to caress his face with a tender touch so very different from Aizen's possessive stroking. He leans into the touch, eyelids fluttering, and tears seep from between closed lids for a moment as the truth of what happens finally strikes him.

He's alive. He's whole.

And Aizen lost.

Unohana comforts him while he cries those soft tears of relief, fully aware of what must be going through her patient's mind, then helps him from the bed to dress himself in his haori and shihakusho. His chest is wrapped in bandages, he notices belatedly, but when he touches the wound-dressing, he can't feel the indentation of a Hollow Hole beneath. Hyourinmaru murmurs gentle solace in his mind then, and Toushiro almost bursts into tears again to realize that his soul is once again his own.

Unohana leaves him to meditate, saying that she will be back with a very important visitor, and Toushiro allows the clean white frost of his power to cover the room, reveling in the purity of his reiatsu like he never had before. He's never realized what a gift his life is, and now that he knows, he appreciates everything, a warmth settling into his heart and flourishing there.

When the door opens again and Hinamori's captain-strong reiatsu wafts inside, he can't help but chuckle softly. Then he steps out into the hallway, and drinks in her appearance for several long minutes, trying not to cry at the sight of her standing so near. Then, to cover his trembling weakness, he rolls his eyes.

"Bedwetter Momo." He snaps, smirking, and Momo bursts into both laughter and tears and the sound of his wavering sarcasm. The Fifth Division Captain throws her arms around her brother and squeezes tightly, crushing his thinner frame to her body as if to reassure herself that he's actually there, and he hugs her back, burying his face in her haori to hide his tears.

"Shiro-chan!" she sobs, and then and there, he resolves that from then on...she can call him whatever she wants.

" _I love you, Momo."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, this is the real ending. Was supposed to be a oneshot. Turned into a two-shot. You know how these things go.


End file.
